


The Struggles Of Muggle Band

by UnusuallyZealousBurgette



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: College AU, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Meeting, I dont have anything against the guy, M/M, Muggle AU, Oneshot, Picasso bashing, Pigheaded Harry, Violin Player Draco, band class, it just fit at the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 08:31:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12229281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnusuallyZealousBurgette/pseuds/UnusuallyZealousBurgette
Summary: Originally, Harry enters the band room to search for Hermione, but instead he finds a stuck-up, blond Violin player crying in a practice room. Being the insistent, hero-complexed person that he is, Harry just can't leave until he puts a smile on Draco's face.





	The Struggles Of Muggle Band

It’s usually on Wednesdays that Harry and Hermione meet for lunch; ‘meeting for lunch’ of course meaning Harry barges into the west band room to find the girl and drag her off to the campus dining hall which, by their late arrival of one o’clock pm, unfailingly becomes far too over-packed to enter and sit. This was the reason that Hermione- constantly overworked with appetite stretched far too thin- proposed a precise meeting at twelve-thirty on the dot, which she never once met, the result of this being an inevitably dry lunch at the local sub shop and rushing back just in time for their afternoon classes. Harry, oft being quite caught up in his own world and prone to such reckless behavior anyway- and at no measure capable of reeling in anal-retentive yet single-minded Hermione- never sought to amend their broken plans, and so, that Wednesday, their cycle continued.

His hand formed into a tight-knuckled fist, Harry wonders why he ever bothers to knock; it never makes any difference as no one can ever hear him. This point is proven as, unclenching his fingers and pulling the door open sharply, he is nearly knocked off his feet by the disorderly racket of independent players whining and banging and moaning and clanging. A short girl, even shorter than him, bursts from the room like a wave of sound in a flurry of sheet music and red hair.

“Oomph, sorry!” the girl ejaculates as her cello case cleanly whacks Harry by the shin. The boy bites down on his lip, wincing. She seems awfully nice, or at the very least sensitive, and he wouldn't want to upset her by being rude about the incident. He kneels over to hide the pained grimace on his lips and begins gathering some of her spilled papers.

“It's no problem. Not at all,” Harry says as he pulls himself up, the wide-eyed red-head propping a hand underneath his elbow, “I'm sure you're very busy and just- er- didn't see me.” 

The girl nods hurriedly, taking the sheets. “Well, thank you for getting my papers anyway.” She looks anxious to make her escape.

“I’d- uh- best be off now...” Harry hurries to catch the girl before she runs off completely.

“Wait! I'm looking for Hermione. Hermione Granger? Have you seen her?”

The girl’s brows furrow for a moment before her eyes alight with understanding and Harry can practically hear the bell ringing in her head. She claps her full hands together with excitement and directs him inside of the room: “One of those practice rooms, she’s just always practicing that Hermione. You know she really is such an inspiration. Just an inspiration to us all. One of the best players we've got…”

Harry cries out a ‘Thank you!’ to the girl’s retreating figure, shaking his head when she doesn't turn back, too caught up in raptures of her own creation. 

Harry enters the room and methodically makes his way to the back class, stepping over empty cases and trying not to slip on loose papers. The practice rooms line the back wall, their interiors extending outwards, only slightly bigger that a broom cupboard. The windows aren't blacked out, but the Harry can't see much inside and the rooms themselves sound-proofed.

He opens the first door with caution. The musical notes dull into a soft series of reverberations as the room swallows up the noise like a black hole; the inside is as dark as one too and bathed in silence. Harry hesitantly opens the door wider and, seeing as this wouldn't be the first time he's caught Hermione catching some much needed but ill-timed sleep, calls out into the space and steps in further, letting the door fall closed behind him.

“Mione? Mione, wake up.” He whisper-shouts. Someone moves in the darkness, their voice hoarse and contemptuous.

“I'm not ‘mione’, now get out you great buffoon!” 

“What the-” Harry scrambles to pull his phone from his back pocket, nearly shattering it on the hardwood floor, and shines the light on the huddled figure in the corner of the room. The person is pale, almost sickly so, and a mess of blond hair shrouds their face. Their eyes are a deep, dark grey, the kind that threaten to swallow you up. Harry doesn't think he's ever seen someone with such odd, contrasting effects about them, except for, maybe-

“Oh hey, I know you... you're from my Advanced Statistics class!” Harry exclaims, “ _You_ were the one who corrected the professor so many times that they cried at their desk! Mate, that was hilarious I-”

“Dear gods, will you leave? Do I really need to remind you that you’re not welcome?” the boy hisses.

A little surprised by the boy’s rude interjection but nonetheless deterred Harry huffs, rolling his eyes and letting a hand fall to his hip as he says, “I'm only trying to make polite conversation,” Then upon taking the blond’s position into consideration, “Is something wrong?”

The faint, yellowish light makes the boy’s scowl look ghastly, but exaggerates the redness of his nose and eyes once his hair is pulled back from his face. “That's an awful stupid thing to ask,” he then says, “seeing as you, one, just walked in on me sitting alone in a dark closet, two, don't know me and probably wouldn't actually care to know what is wrong is something was, and three, are still in my space despite me explicitly asking you to, please, get the fuck out!”

Walking closer and dousing the light from his phone, Harry drops onto the floor next to the livid boy and leans his back onto the wall languidly. If Harry didn't know, in fact, that this histrionic kid was obviously crying for help, he too would have thought his actions clinically insane. Nonetheless, he remains stupidly stubborn in his convictions.

“Your face looked a little red. Were you crying?”

The blond’s anger gives way to desperation and he drops his head back crying, “Just leave me alone!”

When it becomes clear that Harry has no intentions of the sort and awkward slince draws out between the two. Harry racks his brain for something to say.

“You're- erm- really good at math, you know. How'd you get to be so good? I myself have always been rather terrible. Don't know how I managed to get into Advanced Stat. Quite a stunt that was-” 

“-Seriously, what do I have to do to make you go away?” The blond interrupts, gesticulating wildly, “A hundred- no, a million- no a billion pounds! A billion-fucking-pounds if you would just-”

“-My name is Harry, by the way. Harry Potter. You can call me Harry, or Potter. Whatever floats your viola-”

“-please, please, please, please leave me be! I'll have the money hand-delivered by the bloody prince of Norway- shirtless! And, fuck it, pantless! Seriously! Whatever the bloody fuck you're into-”

“-Is that a Viola, by the way? My best friend’s a musical major, or whatever, but I've never really known. Could be a cello maybe…”

The boy suddenly rises up onto his knees, hands knuckles deep bed of curly, blond strands, “-Gods! It's a mother-loving, honest-to-god, bloody fucking Violin you irritating, insufferable, uncultured swine! How do you not know what a Violin is? Of all the other-worldly indecencies this tops them!” The blond throws his hands into the air.

“You- oh you- you miserably insistent git- can just live on freely not even knowing what a bloodied Violin is while I live in constant pain because of the bloody instrument! Un-fucking-believable!” With this the blond bursts into tears, his raspy breaths unintelligible to even Harry and his shudders almost nightmarish.

 _Yep. Definitely a cry for help._

Harry takes this all in stride, throwing an arm over his shoulder and pulling it tight as he slumps back onto the floor. “You've got quite a flair for the dramatics haven't you? You'd like Edgar Allen Poe, I think. I've only read his one poem about that singer, Usher I believe, but thought it was quite boring. Too many facial descriptions- and by the way he described Usher, now that I think of it, he must have been gay too.

“Oh, but he never names the narrator. Quite sad, don't you think? To have this whole dramatic story but not know the name of the main character?”

Draco’s body relaxes under the boy’s arm. After a long, dragged-out silence Harry is sure he hears the blond sniff loudly, a sound suspiciously similar to capitulation coming from his mouth. “Harry Potter, you are the oddest man I've ever met- but you're wrong. I despise Edgar Allen Poe, though I do agree that he was most definitely gay,” The boy untucks his hand and reaches it out to him, “Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

A smile graces Harry’s face as he shakes the frail hand, long bony fingers clasping his. He nods to the boy, “So, _Draco_ , now that we're properly met, or whatever, can you tell me what it is about this blasted Viola that's keeping you in constant torment?”

Draco snorts and leans his head backwards to match Harry’s in position and his eyes fall closed. His thin body sags against the cement, “It's an assignment. A stupid, brilliant assignment. I have to compose and perform a concerto of at least one hundred and sixty measures. Ten students will get their concertos sent to the London Symphony Orchestra where one might get chosen to have our piece performed at a live concert. 

“It's my dream, of course, but violins are one in a million which just means I have to try even harder to achieve it. Don't get me wrong, I know I can do it, I know it's in me, I just can't find it; that inspiration; that ball of fire and heat and genius. Where the bloody fuck did it go?”

Harry leans closer to the boy, contemplating a moment and then deciding, “Find it.”

Draco snaps out of a peaceful trance, his head turning to face Harry’s, “What?”

“I said, ‘Find it’,” Harry stands resolutely, grasping Draco’s hands in his, “Find your inspiration. If there's one thing I learned through my first year of college, mind you spent in dark room constructing my ‘blue period’, is that blue periods really fucking suck. Like, seriously, one guy makes money off of his depression and now we _all_ have to go paint in blue and study this guy's fucking art when I’m clearly an Art Major, not a psychologist, and I'm certainly not a therapist-”

As he starts to trail off Draco stares up at the curly-haired boy with one raised eyebrow and delicately curved lips.

“-but, my point is that you're not going to find your genius in this cupboard. You have to go out, find it. All great works of art come from experience, not depression. Well, that and that the colour blue really sucks. It's so ambiguous and boring and plain, and-” Harry makes a sort of disgusted expression, gagging histrionically.

Draco snorts, “I wouldn't put the therapist thing against you. Really.” the blond stands, placing a warm hand on Harry’s upper arm and grinning at him with softness and gratitude as the fluorescent light from the band room falls upon his face.

“I would. I reckon my patented ‘charm-them-till-they-forget-all-their-worries method’ is quite unethical at the most, unorthodox at the very least,” Harry says, still grinning slyly. Draco release his arm and takes a step back, crossing his arms in an unbelieving fashion.

“Charming? Is that what you call invading my space and refusing to leave me alone? Bit of metrosexual view on things, don't you think?”

Harry shrugs, “Hey, you said it, not me.”

Draco blushes a pretty red, “Well I- I mean that's- well that's not exactly what I said- what meant I mean…” The blond bites his lip apprehensively. “Oh just get out.”

“I guess I better just leave you to your music anyway.” Harry, finding himself unable to take his eyes from Draco bottom lip. He nearly falls over as he pushes the door open and his cheeks bloom bright red in embarrassment.

Draco watches with thinly veiled endearment as he makes his way out in an uncouth manner, the blond’s arms crossed over his chest.

“Oi, Harry!” he hears from behind, turning on his heel to heed the sound, “I'll see you in Stat, right? You can- erm- ask me if you need any help.”

“Oh. Oh! Yeah, totally.” Harry runs a hand through his hair, feeling oddly off-balance, “Er, maybe next you'll be teaching the class!”

Draco nods, smirking, “Maybe.”

“Maybe.”

A wide grin on his face, Harry takes a step forward with his eyes steadily trained on his shoes. The door to the practice room closes behind him and he finds himself glued to the spot as the world spins around him. 

A finger taps on Harry’s shoulder and, on his looking up, he finds a bushy-haired girl standing over him, one foot tapping impatiently on the hardwood floor.

“Really, Harry?” Hermione reprimands, “I was waiting for you so long that by the time I got up to find you the hall was already filled! Whatever happened to twelve-thirty sharp? I set that time for a reason!” 

Harry shakes his head roughly, “Oh, I'm sorry Hermione, I didn't even realize. I was actually just looking for you.”

Sighing as she grabs his arm and pulls him off, Hermione laments, “Well why would you ever go looking for me, Harry? You're the one who's always late.”

“I don't think you've got that exactly right, Mione,” Harry responds, relentlessly tugging on his messy locks.

The girl rolls her eyes, “Whatever you say, Harry. We have about an hour of time left… what do you want to do?”

Images of curly blond hair, a deep grey eyes continuously playing over in his mind, Harry barely comprehends the girl’s question. “Huh? Oh, er, want to grab a sandwich?”

**Author's Note:**

> I tried something new so please, be gentle, but leave any constructive criticisms in the comment section. I love feedback!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr @Unusuallyzealousburgette.


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